Es Tut Weh, Wen Man Draufdrückt
by Aki-niichan Aki's Notebook
Summary: /It Hurts When You Touch It/ Aya thinks Omi's potential is wasted on Yoji. The elder Weiss boys seems to have opposite views on each other. NCS implied.


Es Tut Weh, Wen Man Draufdrückt   
/It Hurts When You Touch It/  
Standard disclaimers apply!  
  
A tremendous waste, for a toy constructed from such brilliance was absurd, and a heavy fist slammed into the brick white-washed face of the alley, burning violet orbs smoldering into the picture-perfect domesticity of shotakon proportions. What was it in the lithe, playful posture that urged him to thrust into the shaking body, to see it littered on his floor, to hear the withering sobs of defeat come from the succulent lips begging for mercy, unsheltered, and put a stop to it. To own the sensation, to give it, to show what he could do, and put the boy into place; show him how real men do it, how unmerciful the real world is.   
He started off, eyes peering golden swathes of blue as sunlight met the fresh-scrubbed face. Everything in the boy was uplifting, truly, beautiful and oblivious to the fact, brimming entirely with inborn sexuality untapped.   
Or tapped so, as fortune would have it for Kudou Yoji, a man of little talent and narrow aptitude if at all, too daft and raucous to be able to handle such a susceptible gem. He was sixteen, advanced, capable for his age, and the precocious magnetism needed honing; there was no space for affection and pampering in the eyes of a scorned man. The boy was, had to be, his.   
  
  
Slipper-shod feet made it's way to the furthest room of the hallway, careful not to rouse the boarder of the room next door. Ken was probably asleep, judging from the light snoring coming from inside, and with Yoji out, Omi had set another meeting with Weiß's uncharismatic leader.   
He knocked lightly at the door, waiting a few seconds before he would knock again. Aya was, had to be home, because he had asked for help earlier that day and knew Omi would be coming. He raised his hand again but before his knuckles grazed the plain wood the door swung open. Omi gave his best smile.   
The moment the door opened Aya was walking back to his bed, side table lamp alone lighted. Omi made his way inside, making a quick konbanwa before kneeling onto the bed and dropping his notes, shifting lightly over the papers. He pulled out a yellow sheet and the pencil tucked behind his ear.   
"Ne, Aya-niichan, I have to answer page 243 of Advanced Algebra exercises 6.2 and 6.3, which involves a lot of solutions. I'm a bit clumsy when it comes to fractions, so I need you to check if my answers are correct." Omi pleaded sweetly, careful not to sound demanding in anyway as he can sometimes be in the shop, and grinned in appreciation when Aya offered a clipped nod. Something in the way the older boy was staring at him made him feel uneasy, but he disregarded it and started on his homework. It was after all, late.   
He was well into the third problem when Aya moved closer, apparently watching him solve. Omi tried to be extra careful, conscious not to make stupid mistakes while someone was watching, when a long, if rangy, leg drew beside his hip and Aya slid into the cramped space between him and the headboard. Omi barely glanced back, intent on doing his best. "Do you want me to move forward?"   
"No. I won't be able to see."   
He continued his work, understanding the shift in position, as Aya pressed lightly against his back and propped a chin on his shoulder. It felt a bit awkward, Omi realizing that Aya had *never* touched him before. He raised his notebook a little higher, so that Aya could see.   
Warm breath blew against the surface of his skin, lining his jaw and neck, and immediately he fought the urge to straighten his back. Aya reached for the base of is notebook, one arm slipping between him and his writing hand, rubbing lightly against his side.   
He moved closer, pressing continuously against the smaller boy's back. Omi tensed, for a moment, before shaking the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach, until warm, dry lips brushed roughly against his temple. He froze.   
"Aa-Aya?"   
Another swift spark of contact was on his cheek, and the lingering light caress traveled slowly to the side of his neck, leaving a warm, wet trail behind. The boy struggled to move, but could not get himself to even look. Something inavertedly small and frightened shuddered inside him, helpless and confused, and it called out for help.   
"Niisan? W-what are you doing?"   
Slender arms tugged at his waist, kisses growing urgent. A murmur blew over the damp, pale flesh, sending a chill down Omi's spine and his entire body.   
"What I should have a long time ago."   
Omi began to shiver, yet the room suddenly felt extraordinarily warm, beads of sweat and a heated flush darkened his face. The large, insistent hands were slowly weaving their way on his body, one feeling around his upper body while the other reached directly between his legs.   
"AYA!"   
Blue eyes shut tightly, hands gripping knees and stranded, pulling on the soft white cloth of his pajamas as the older boy feasted on his flesh. He could feel tears forming but would not let them out, not letting anything he could still, vaguely, control slip out of his awareness. A quivering plea came out his lips without any thought.   
"Aya please, I c-can't…"   
He bit on his lips harshly, suppressing a sob as he was groped violently, and nimble fingers crawled to the waistband of his pajamas. It skimmed the edges lightly before halting, clutching the fabric and tugging.   
"Are you going to disobey me Omi?"   
The boy shuddered, the simple consideration coursing fear through him doublefold. Disobey *Aya*. It was spoken so low, yet so sternly that it pierced him right through him, to an awareness he kept filed neatly inside of what to do. There was only, there could only be one answer to such a question, ever since the beginning, for as long as he could remember.   
He was trapped, in Aya's room, in Aya's hands, in Aya's rules.   
Held tears finally burst free out of anguish as the cherished name escaped out of his lips.   
"Yoji…"   
The strain on his waist vanished and the stark white hand was on his face, cupping his chin and cheek firmly to meet him. Burning violet pools caught his, preying chastity with one, final, undeniable assertion.   
"He doesn't have to know."   
Licked lips descended, taking advantage of the stilled heartbeat, and plundered without haste, cleaving Omi's mouth with his tongue and ravishing the warm well of sweetness. How long had Yoji been feasting on this? How long had he wanted a taste of the sugary sunshine so selfishly isolated from the rest of them? It was as deep and succulent and enthralling as he knew it would be, and here and now it was *his*.   
A ragged series of knocks pounded against the door, Omi's eyes growing wide and frightened as the knob was shuffled quickly and Aya did not respond. The door was locked, despite his all-too-recent memory of not locking it. "Oi Omi, you in there? Yoji's on the phone." Omi pushed desperately to Aya's face. "Aymmmp…!"   
He finally wrenched free, not completely but at least got his mouth away from Aya's, face ridden with guilt upon hearing his lover's name. Before he could answer the knocking resumed.   
"He needs a ride home and I think he's letting you take his car to pick him up."   
Omi immediately turned to go but a strong grip kept him in place, and a deep booming voice answered Ken's demanding persistence. His decision had already been made for him.   
"Omi has an exam tomorrow. Go pick him up."   
Omi's eyes widened in response, exasperated at first then panicked as Aya's hand clamped over his mouth. Ken's reaction was just as startled.   
"Are you sure? I mean Yoji's kinda…"   
"Urusai! Leave Ken."   
Heavy feet thumped over the floors outside past the vicinity of their room, leaving Omi behind, to receive the rejected call. The boy sputtered muffled protests and thrashed, attempted to, non-stop until the sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the near-vacant apartment. The flailing arms went limp.   
"Ken can handle that. You're of better service here at the moment."   
That stated, Aya's leg flung over his hip and he found himself pinned to the mattress, the older boy straddling his hips and placing one hand over his chest to push him downward. The smoldering look was predatory, and he felt all the more weak and vulnerable in his position. Aya's features remained stoic, but the appraising eyes were dead-set upon him.   
"You can do this willingly," Aya stressed, heavily grinding his erection against Omi while his fingers lightly traced the slim chest, "or I can make you." Forceful hands grabbed at Omi's wrists one-by-one, as if proving a point, and held them down with a vise-like grip, half-expecting a sob or whimper. But the clear blue eyes had stilled.   
"What will it be?"   
  
  
The door slowly opened, a tawny head peeking in. The boy was already in bed, dressed in a loose shirt and as oversized jacket despite the warmth of closed shutters, but was still sitting up, apparently not noticing his visitor. Yoji paced forward, a bit surprised that his arrival had not drawn any attention until his knees had touched the edge of the bed. He cleared his throat.   
Starled eyes met his, lips pressed together in a mock smile. Yoji handed over his drink and knelt on the bed to sit beside Omi.   
Omi set the glass of milk on the bedside table, not minding it. A hand patted his head to tousle the baby-fine blond hair lightly. It was still damp.   
"Come on, drink your milk."   
Omi's gesture of discomfort made him pull away, watching the boy carefully. Without glancing back Omi took the glass in his hands and finished the frothy, chocolate-flavored liquid. He handed Yoji the empty glass and drew his knees to his chest.   
Green eyes lidded, pensive. "Is something wrong little one?"   
  
/Wrong…/   
  
/It's alright. It's alright./   
  
/So cold, so empty, I knew.../   
  
/Shh… everyone does./   
  
/But, the others…/   
  
/No one has to know, Aya, no one has to know./   
  
/Slender arms tightened around the broad shoulders, whispering assurances and then humming, soft and simple. It was cold, and too quiet, but the careful embrace was there, and the boy held him, and rocked, rocked…/   
  
… and rocked. Blue pools flickered from the still blankness, wondering, startled, eyes immediately widened by awareness as calm green waited. Strong arms were around him, understanding.   
"Oh Yoji, gomen, I was just…"   
A finger brushed over his cheek, silencing him. Damp. And cold. When, how…   
"Ken said Aya wouldn't let you go. Is this true?"   
Omi's eyes shot up, words not forming. Ken said, Ken couldn't have known. He merely stated the obvious fact. But Yoji wasn't so inexperienced. The softness in his eyes was the force behind it. It was as if, God no, he *knew*. And as had always threatened him, the calm green hid restrained awareness Omi could not miss.   
Yoji's slender finger brushed lightly on his neck, briefly over a red mark he recognized as… a bite. A fresh wound. Omi's eyes winced directly away from his direction, breathing halted.   
"Is this true…?"   
Fear sprang up unbidden and tiny fingers clung to his shoulders. "He won't do it again! I, We-weiss is… Ken-niichan…" Omi said he. Not *we*.   
Yoji's eyes fell shut. "Does Aya know?"   
"D-does Aya…?"   
"Who was it…?" Yoji's voice was bitterly sharp, almost too low to hear.   
The embrace loosened and fell away, but smaller arms flung around his neck and pressed around him almost crushingly. Yoji's eyes stung fiercely, chest burning, all that he has become crumbling before his eyes, and large hands clung on to everything, to the needy child in his arms, pulling himself, their bodies, together. It was more than anger, or fury, or defeat, and he held onto the boy for dear life, and Omi to him.   
His Omi, the light and smile and wish that kept his soul intact, helping him see again after such bitter darkness. It rendered him speechless and horrified at how anyone could harm this beautiful angel, the only thing left of Weiss that deserved *better*. Uncorrupted, golden Omi. His Omi. Defiled.   
He felt it, the calling of sin. A murderous chill ran up and down along his spine, full of hatred and vindication. Bloodlust.   
"..."   
Yoji cupped the guileless face, eyes misted and painful. But the boy's solemn tears had remained unshed, and so he held his own, because it did matter. There was no fear there, no pain, no more questions, but a depth of belief and love that was only for him. "Never," Omi reiterated, with all the sincerity of a child. Never.   
And Yoji rocked, pulling the boy to his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat close to his. He clicked off the table lamp and leaned back against the headboard.   
  
/Ken-kun loves you niisan./   
  
"You should to sleep little one. You need some rest." After what you've been through.   
A light kiss was pressed to his chin.   
Yoji ran his hands up and down his back and he whispered softly in assurance. "I will. I'll stay here all night, zutto."   
  
/I hurt you…/   
  
/It will heal niisan./   
  
Omi: If you liked this please visit Aki-niichan's dojo at   
http://geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/2728/index.html   
Thanx!  



End file.
